Chocolate Frog Cards
by senoritablack
Summary: Rickyl Hogwarts AU, feat. underground candy/booze rings, magical torture of the feathery kind, lots of poison, chocolate frog card support groups, meddling ghosts and finding love after years at war. (prompt fill)


They say the first step was admitting that you have a problem.

Which is a fine enough abstraction, but not at all on when you don't infact have a problem. He hasn't got one – really. Not like _they_, the they he'd gotten to know – thinks he has. What he has is an upset stomach because he's probably been poisoned. What he has is his luck, or lack of it, as he's tied up to a chair and there's a very ominous looking feather floating not two inches from his nose.

He also has a bad case of word vomit – or so he remembers. When he left from the den at The Three Broomsticks, he didn't stop to pick up any new conversations. He literally ran away after Eugene's question, and sped up when the Harrison sisters followed him down the stairs, both of whom thought it'd be fuckin' hilarious to shout out several rapidly fired and inappropriate questions. From there a chunk of time is missing. He has no clue how he gotten kidnapped and brought into this rickety old shack. He figures it's its old age and Hogsmede's weather that worn its ceiling, because melted snow falls between its splintered wood and onto his shoulder. He's just noticed half his arm is soaking wet.

_My, my did Hogwarts give a damn about its students_, he thinks, glaring at the wet spots.

Rick's sight is a bit fuzzy, but he could make out the room. He could see the high window and that it's dark out. Definitely all problematic, but not a _problem, problem_.

"Finally, sleeping beauty wakes the hell up!" say a voice behind him, a voice he hadn't been able to shake for years now. He snorts because, well, that's going to be a problem. In for sickle, in for a galleon he always says. He's never had a boring life and he guesses somewhere down the road he's gunna look back on this moment and be appreciative of the fact. But now, he's just wondering if the poison had something to do with like, bad-bad joo-joo. Voo doo stuff from the states and all that.

"Do you think there's a potion opposite of Felix Felices?" Rick asks. A figure comes out to face him. They've got the hood to their cloak on and a black cloth wrapped around their face, all but their eyes are covered. Rick rolls his own. The person's just glaring, or Rick doesn't know if counts as fully glaring. The person is strong-eyebrowing. Eyebrow flexing? Murder they wrote – are writing.

"To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure, prince charmin'?" he asks, but he watches the feather inch closer to his face instead of Daryl.

"Hey," Daryl grunts, pointing Rick's wand to his forehead. "I'm asking the questions, capiche?"

And Daryl keeps poking him like an irritating toddler.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure thing." Rick says, unimpressed.

Daryl stuffs Rick's wand into the waistband of his pants – an irony Rick can't bring himself to dwell on at the moment. Then produces an empty vial from his pocket, a little something with a hastily scribbled label on it and he shoves it between Rick's eyes.

"Know what this is?" Daryl asks. Rick has two words at the tip of his tongue, first one being _ridiculous_ \- which would more than anything be how he'd describe the situation at hand, but the other is more of what he's probably expected to say.

"Veritaserum." He chooses. "Man, you gotta work on that penmanship."

Daryl looks to the bottle like it wronged him and makes a sort of noise only native to girls' dormitories, one that he'd vehemently deny had Rick the desire to point it out.

"Means you gotta tell me the truth!" says Daryl evenly, taking a foot and stomping down on the bit of space between Rick's thighs. His toes are close to Rick's crotch. _Not a problem. Not a problem. Not a problem._

Daryl grabs Rick by his tie, silver and green, and is just about a nose away. Then because his body is dirty, fucking traitor, some of those feelings-that-shall-not-be-named come up – and he's trying to settle his nerves before talking again, setting up a forced bravado and daring to shoot further even, somethin' or where like over confidence.

"I didn't realize it was one of those parties, Dixon. Would of put on that thing you like."

"Quit trying to be cute, Grimes!" Daryl growls, throwing the vial at a wall with one hand and griping tighter onto Ricks tie before he lets go. The bottle makes a hissing noise somewhere vaguely not Daryl and Rick can't help but gape at the black burn where its remnants fall. _That shit's in him_, is all he could think, and _it can't be good_. He looks back to Daryl with a frown, wondering if he's gunna need to see Madam Pompfrey after this. He finds that the other boy's been yelling something. Lots of somethings, actually, and pacing the floor with his own wand in his hand now.

"Grimes!" He shouts. Then he's got his wand shoved up Rick's nose. Rick stares at it and back to the feather.

"Mind repeating the question, professor?"

Daryl violently whispers a few things and suddenly there's a hot light blinding him.

"Where the hell did they go, huh? My shipment was suppose to be here Friday, Grimes. Where's my booze!"

Daryl sounds like a banshee and he sorta want to say as much, but he figures he not ought to, considerin' he's already tied up and whatna.

"Not gunna talk?" Daryl asks.

Rick can't see him (or anything for that matter), but he knows a spell when he hears it. It's not a second after the words are cut off that the feather - which had been eyeing him like he'd imagine a dementor would an Azkaban escapee - comes closer to him, and honest to Merlin starts to brush up and down his cheek before attacking the part of his neck that's left exposed.

"How did you… " Rick squirms. He lets out a full, guttural laugh, and it's the embarrassing kind; one that sounds like you're choking on something. He might have farted. His stomach is clenching and he can't help but shake and tug against his bonds. There's only one person who knows of his _affliction_, and that's his runt of a cousin, Carl. _He'll pay for the betrayal._

"Know thy enemies." Daryl sneers. Rick's really unimpressed now. He's also not at all proud of the fact that he can't stand another minute of this.

"Fuckin' Peletier - 5th year!" Rick laughs, crying a little.

"Told her, fuckin' mermaid tits, Dixon, make the damn thing stop!"

Rick's not sure how he hasn't caused the chair to fall over with his thrashing. He's in stitches and has to be certifiably blind now, what with the light and watery eyes. Mean, he wouldn't let himself mount a broomstick in this condition.

"Told her to set up an early transaction. Got your guy to sell to me instead." he snorts, words coming out breathy. "Used polyjuice and pretended to be you. S'all in my private storage. Seventh floor."

"Enough, dammit!" Rick howls, trying to school his face but failing. "I'm only one man!"

The feather falls to the floor and the light burst into several small spheres, twirling about before stringing themselves around the room like decorations at the Yule Ball. There's still a tint to his vision as he comes to, but he could see Daryl's outline. He's got his back to him and his hood's off. He's hunched over and his palms lie flat against a table that wasn't there a few minutes ago.

"Very displeased, _Grimes_." Daryl definitely sounds the part of a villain now, his voice low and menacing. Rick doesn't give a shit of course.

"Well, I'm not exactly lollipops about being tied up and tortured myself, _Dixon_." Rick says, his eyes narrowed.

"Why?" Daryl murmurs.

Rick want to ask what the fuck he means by, _why_, but then he's seeing Daryl more clearly now. He's seeing Daryl, back lifting up and down like he's having some sort of asthma attack – as if he's the one that had just gone through a traumatic feathering experience; like he's nervous for some reason. But maybe Rick's imagining it and maybe Daryl's just tying not to yell. Rick thinks he'd like that better than this quiet and soft stint. A quiet Dixon wasn't something that Rick was used to.

"Why?" Rick repeats.

"Why did you do it all?" Daryl says quickly, rolling back his shoulders before he turns around.

"Er, cause I knew you'd of sought me out yourself." He winces at his own words. Daryl's rubbing at the back of his neck and gnawing at a thumbnail.

"You wanted to speak to me? A-alone?" he stutters, spitting out what is probably fresh skin. Rick doesn't even try to stop the next words out his mouth, not that there wasn't much of a chance to hold back the truth anyway.

"Yeah, ok? Yeah."

Daryl finally pulls down the stupid cloth that really wasn't hiding anything and Rick looks to his downturn mouth almost immediately. His cheeks go hot when Daryl catches him.

"Why?"

-/-

_ONE MONTH AND SOME KNUTS AGO_

"I think we all know where the rumors are coming from, Rhee, but I want them squashed as soon as possible! Can't have the cliental running for Dixon's cheap goods."

Rick stands up from his comfy armchair, pointing his wand to a very detailed model of the school. He conjures stickmen out of a near by package of licorice wands. Like proper soldiers ought to, they stand at attention by mini Hogwarts' front gates just before he whispers another spell that causes them to scatter about the paper castle, marching to where he wills them.

"One of you at each of our usual posts, Rhee." Rick says. "Two at the Black Lake, three at the entrance from Hogsmede, and one in each common room. Offer them two free peppermint imps with each candy purchase - a packet and a sugar quill, if they buy a bottle of fire whiskey. No specials on butterbeer, though. That's still 3 galleons a set."

Rick looks around the room, giving his troupe an impressed smirk when they all promptly nod in understanding.

"Alright gentlemen," and he recovers quickly when someone gives out an indignant squawk from a seat in the back. "Sorry - and gentlewoman. I've got somewhere to be, but make sure to hand in your sale reports at the end of the week. You're excused."

"Er, Rick, sir?" Rick turns to his second in command, Glenn. He's got his brows raised high and a large smile that isn't at all inconspicuous as his eyes shift from Rick to the table where the little licorice men have started river dancing, and back to Rick again. He glances around and sees that Glenn isn't the only of his following that are stalking the candied dancers like vultures on pray. He looks up to the ceiling, his hands on his hips.

"Yeah, go crazy." Rick sighs. "But yall need to remember to save some damned product for selling this time! We don't want to repeat march of '74."

When they're all making their way out of the room of requirement, Rick can't help but feel a little fond as they shout out variants of thanks, their mouths full of candy. He almost forgets to stop Carol before she's off, catching her mid spell. She's conjured a tiny licorice ship, complete with a plank and it's float against invisible waves near her mouth. Rick assumes - because it's carol - her stickmen were to soon meet their untimely demise.

"Peletier, before you go…" he starts, catching her elbow. She flicks her wand and one stick man jumps from the plank and onto her tongue.

"Yeah, boss?" She asks, mid chew.

"I've got a special mission for you."

-/-

"Come on, love, tell us. When was the last time you bought a chocolate frog?"

Rick bought one yesterday, but that was only because he already went through the box he bought a week before. He's not going to let them know that, of course.

"Bout a month." He lies, because he's an amazing liar.

"Pardon me, Rick, but I think you're lying." say Eugene, a 5th year in his house. "I could of sworn I had seen you hauling something into the Slytherin common room just the other week. It was marked similarly to Honeydukes products."

Rick rolls out the kinks in his neck. He's really not sure how a support group could be this stressful. He's attended since 3rd year, on his uncles wishes – a fact that'd be funny if he knew it was his fault that Rick'd been hell bent on collecting Chocolate Frog cards in the first place. _Only 400 hundred or less in circulation_, he told him.

He didn't have a problem and he told them weekly, reminding them just as much that he was top of his class and he's never gotten desperate enough to sell his body for froggy twofers down Knockturn Alley.

Laura the mediator looks to him expectantly, her smile more concerning than it is warm. He smiles despite the urge to throw a stunning charm on them all and walk the fuck out.

"Well, oops, did I say a month? Meant a week."

"Very good, Rick. You must know that there isn't shame in falling off the broomstick, once and a while. You've heard all of your groupmates do it." Laura says.

"But that doesn't mean stay off, right?" she giggles and shakes her head yes. She probably wants Rick to say yes.

"Uh, yes?"

"Exactly," she agrees. She turns to everyone with a smile, and spreads her arms wide eagle before bringing them together in a thunderous applause.

"Come on then, everyone, you know what this means." She says. "Cheer on your groupmate, let him know we're proud."

All of them – Eugene, Pegged Legged Pirate Joe, Orion, the Harrison sisters and some old man that looks like a poor wizard's Dumbledore - are clapping, and all of them are not happy about it. They can't be any uncomfortable than Rick is though.

When it ends, Rick feels like he has to thank them. He's bored out his mind so I figures he might as well make it interesting. Rick smiles and stands up.

"I'm not sure what to say." He starts. He rubs thoughtfully at his cheek and jaw, wiping his smirk into a fake frown.

"Thanks, you know? Yall have been beaters and I a rogue bludger, a rogue bludger flying out in a thunderstorm and mischief making faries and dementors. And yall just held tight onto those bats, and knocked me through each hoop. Hoops of life. Yall got me through hoops of life."

He's probably going to make himself vomit, so of course he keeps going.

"Everyday is a struggle, you know? Every damn day." He spits. He closes his eyes and clenches his fists. He wobbles his lips.

"And then I look at those cards and you know what I think of? I can't help but think of your smilin', encouragin' faces. I say to myself, I say 'self, what would those people, those beautiful wizards think if I just gave in?' And just like that, poof, it's so easy to walk away."

Rick's eyes are actually watering now. Not caused by what they have to believe, though. It's just that he doesn't know how long he could hold back his laughter.

Wiping at his eyes, he contemplates the group. Laura, he knew, was gunna be easy, but even the hard ass Harrison sisters got identical hands to their hearts. Hell, discounted Dumbledore's trying to indiscreetly wipe his eyes with his beard.

Group doesn't last long after his speech. He gives them a quick nod before he bolts, 'cause the urgency to get the hell away from them increases when Laura closes the session.

-/-

In getting want one wants, Rick would have no qualms in saying he's practically a professional. Dressed sharp and hair slicked back, he arrives at Professor Slughorn's door at precisely 30 minutes from curfew. He knows Slughorn's got a taste for the finer things in life, all that's silver and galleons, so when the door's opening he's already presenting the bottle he had tucked underneath his cloak.

"Oh, Rick my boy. What can I do for you?" says the pot bellied wizard, dressed in spotted pajamas and a green bath robe. Rick grins at him.

"Evening Professor! Sorry to bother you so late, but I was at the Three Broomsticks this afternoon and Madam Rosmerta just insisted that I'd give you this."

It isn't true, he'd actually swooped it from his own private storage, but what the Professor don't know, won't hurt him.

Rick stuffs his hands in his pockets when Slughorn takes it from him. He's studying it with fascination, as if it was gunna sprout wings or talk.

"Think someone's a bit smitten, eh, professor?" Rick gives him a knowing look and Slughorn gasps, holding the bottle to his chest and shielding it like a newborn from the cold.

"Rick Grimes!"

Rick ignores him.

"Sir? While I've got you here, actually, you know I love me a good experiment."

"I do." says Slughorn, fingers tracing down the bottle's label as if it contained love itself.

"Well, I'm testing out a few homemade herbicides for herbology, you see, but the student supply room isn't quite doing the trick. Mind if I borrow a few things?"

"From my private storage?" Slughorn ask, turning his attention away from the bottle.

"From your private storage." He nods.

Rick watches as the Slughorn face goes through exactly 7 emotions, before he's settled on an expression that Rick's known well from the 6 years he's known the man; it reads _reluctant and but hoping for the best._

"I'd be sure to share my findings with you, professor. Should my tests prove successful, I heard these types of studies are of the interest of The Yearly Potions Report. I reckon it'd be nice to be published in such an esteemed journal."

Rick knows the ingredients he needs are as good as in the couldron, but he really just added that last part for kicks. Slughorn's eyes crinkle as he smiles and stuffs the bottle into the pocket of his bathrobe. He claps Rick on the shoulder before ushering him through the threshold.

"Well, if it's for the future of one of my best and brightest!"

-/-

_Conspiracy. Traitors. Blasphemers. Someone is out to get me._ He thinks of the only person who's actually known to plot against him, but then he's reminded of where he is and where that person is by a contented sigh and he scratches that off the list. _OK._

_One other person is out to get me._

Why else is Daryl here, at his bought out bath time. He's been making deals with prefects since 3rd year for this damn slot.

He's going to say something. Right after he remembers the last time he and Daryl had been in a 5 foot vicinity for more than a passing moment. Nothing comes up, because they haven't, not since first year. And there wasn't as much skin then. Rick looks down to his body and then back to Daryl's. They're so nude.

_What exactly is enemy number two trying to gain here._

Rick still has his underwear on at least, though he drapes his towel in front of him as he stands in shock and at half salute. Daryl's floating on his back and his eyes are closed, else he'd probably see Rick and not be as fucking serene looking as he is now.

That don't last long 'cause Daryl lays a soaking hand on his bare belly, and even if bubbles cover his _flobberworm_, Rick can see contours and that's enough for him to make him screech like a pissed off Hippogryff. He also drops his towel, so when he tries to inch back, his foot gets caught and he falls to the tile. Face first at least, less to show.

"The fuck are you doing here, Grimes!" shouts Daryl, wet hair falling into his eyes. He's standing over Rick now and nice enough to be covered up.

Rick can't look right at his face. Sort of because he still has his cheek to the floor, but mostly because he's hoping that he'd slipped and bumped his head earlier, and that this is all just an elaborate fever dream he's going to soon wake up from.

"Could ask you the same thing, Dixon." Rick says, standing up and bringing the asshole towel with him. "Last time I heard, you aren't a prefect."

He bypasses Daryl while he's got his back turned towards a cupboard.

Rick tries to set the bath to his liking, but then he feels Daryl's heated gaze and he accidentally turns the nob for the fruiter smelling of soaps. Rick could see that Daryl's got his arms crossed and another towel wrapped on his head like a turban – you know, much like a witch would.

"You fuckin' aint either, so you have no right saying something to me." Daryl's still standing there, his fingers digging into his stupid biceps. 17 year olds shouldn't have biceps like that.

"Agree to disagree." Rick says, chucking off his shorts. He should probably feel a little mortified to be _wand out_, but in some weird way it's almost payback. It's satisfying and very curious when Daryl groans. Rick decidedly doesn't look at him.

"Merlin man, could you at least wait 'til I'm gone." Daryl says.

Rick's eases himself into the bath, letting out a fifthly moan whiles he's doing it.

"So be gone." Rick snorts, closing his eyes. He hears shuffling, like Daryl's getting dressed. Then the door creaks and slams. When he opens his eyes again, he's alone.

Rick backs himself against the closest wall of the pool and slowly forces his body downward, aggressively frowning as water engulfs over his lips, nose, and eyes.

-/-

For the life of him, Rick can't think of its name, but there's this plant that's in nearly every damn tincture. In order for the active ingredient to work its magic, though, its gotta be separated from the parasite that it hosts. It's a small bug with something like 40 legs and 20 pincers and could be used for a few potions itself, but only a few. Other than that it's just what it is – a nuisance.

Rick thinks separating 10 of those bugs from one plant would be easier than stopping his kid cousin from whining. His kid cousin, very much Rick's own gangly and pimpled parasite, is pointing his wand at Rick like he knows how to use the thing.

_Fuckin' first years._

"Look, kid, you know when I graduate you're next in line for second, right? But for now just fly along with the program."

Carl's eyes go wide.

"Second, Rick? I'm your damn cousin! I should inherent the family – whatever!" He shouts.

"First off, this ain't a family whatever. It's a _me_ whatever." Rick says, pushing down Carl's wand and throwing himself down into his favorite loveseat.

"Second, you can't even make runs into Hogsmede until third year. It's all a lot of work, more than you hear from regular meetings. Just sell what you're given, get good O. and for the love of Merlin practice your hexes. I won't be able to defend you once I'm graduated."

Rick closes his eyes, thinking he might take a nap before dinner.

"But Rick."

Carl storms off when Rick doesn't answer him.

-/-

Rick's sitting at the far end of the Slytherin's table when Carol slides into the bench in front of him. He doesn't look at her and she doesn't look at him. He wipes at his mouth with a cloth napkin and pours them both pumpkin juice.

"Boss." She says in greeting, whispering into her drink. "It's done."

"Hot sauce?" he asks, around a mouth full of mash potatoes.

"His favorite." She grabs at a chicken leg that's roughly the size of both her arms combined and gnaws on it, like her soul is hungry. _Hungry to bring pain_, Rick thinks proudly.

Sure enough, when Rick glances at the Hufflepuff table there's Dixon and his cronies laughing and stuffing their mouth with similarly arm-sized chicken pieces. Dixon unscrews the cap of the hot sauce and pours a generous amount onto his own.

Rick looks back to his plate and smiles. He nods at it more than Carol. When he stands up to leave, he shakes her hand, sliding to her in the process a pack of _Drooble's Best Bubble Gum_.

"Good work." He whispers, without moving his lips much. "You'll know where to find me."

-/-

Rick's got look outs several paces apart.

When Daryl and his crew are leaving the Great Hall, he's got several pairs of eyes watching as they all go rigid – stilling, before dropping to the ground. If there are students in the halls who notice their fallen classmates, they dutifully and smartly pretend they haven't. It's a sort of tacit knowledge at this point. _You don't speak about the candy business, if you know what's good for you._

While each of his comrades magic the bodies into various alcoves, Rick bridges the distance between him and Dixon.

"Whaaa?" Dixon can't keep his eyes open so Rick doesn't both leaving his hood up.

"Know thy enemy," Rick whispers and severs off an inch of Daryl's hair into a small vial.

He drags Daryl into a nearby broom closet when he's completely out. When he leaves it, he straightens his robes and walks casually towards the first floor girl's bathroom, whistling the chorus to a popular muggle ballad called _Dancing Queen_. The tune repeats itself down the hall, from one of his comrade's lips to the next. He doesn't have to check back, they know to disperse at the sound.

-/-

Rick wonders if there's a way to kill ghosts. Like really kill them - poof.

"Give it a rest, Myrtle."

He came to work on his potion. He's never made Polyjuice before, but it looks a lot like the illustration and the instructions say it ought to at this point. It needs a week more to brew.

"Say, Ricky? If you're turning yourself into Daryl Dixon, does that mean you'll be seeing him…naked?" Myrtle sings, her high-pitched voice sending unpleasant chills down the back of his neck.

"Shut up." He breathes, slicing harshly at boomslang skin.

"Is it considered real sex if it's not your body, I wonder? Or perhaps it's some form masturbation?"

She's floating upside down now, her translucent face inches from his own. Rick throws the boomslang bits into the cauldron, giving it three stirs. He turns to a nearby sink to wash the innards from his hand, and jumps when the potion makes a loud bang, fizzing, before settling into a steady boil.

"Myrtle I swear I'll call Peeve's down here. I know how much you love him."

She's lying across the row of sinks now, reclining against the cauldron like a pillow. He's looking into it and back to his textbook, happy when the colors match.

"Touchy, touchy. I only figure you're quite excited. I'd absolutely die had I the chance to see Dixon in the buff." She giggles. "_Well_, die again."

"_Well_, there's where you and I differ, then. I aint got no interest in seeing someone that don't want me, uh, seeing them. This is strictly business." Rick says stiffly, his nose turned up.

"And what business is that? Laying about in the prefect bathroom, playing a game of wizard solitaire while moaning his name? Bet you'd love to see his poker hand, wouldn't you, you filthy boy."

Rick looks at her and suddenly the tips of ears are burning, probably coloring themselves bright red.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about." He growls.

"Don't you?" Myrtle giggles. "D-Daryl, p-please." She shutters, closing her hallowed eyes and biting her purple lips.

Rick's horrified and he can't really find it in him to protest, 'cause she's found out about him – er, handling the situation - somehow. She seems to notice his catatonic state and is of course floating around the room howling with laughter in response.

"Ghosts talk, Ricky." She says, wiping at her eyes like she could produce real tears. "You wouldn't expect it from a Hufflepuff, but the Bloody Baron is quite the gossip. He even wrote a piece about it in the Ghoul Newsletter."

"Wrote what in the where?" Rick says, looking at her sharply.

"It comes out every Wednesday and Sunday."

It doesn't explain anything, but she says it like it does. Rick sighs and accepts it. He hides his face in his hands and leans against a bathroom stall.

"So, did you take a lick of his licorice wand?"

Rick's head snaps up.

"What? No!"

"Slytherin to his dungeon?" she continues, waggling her eyebrows.

"Take a plunge into his black lake? Give him a fizzing wizzbang of your own? Take a peak of his restricted section? Dip your spoon into his fudge pot?"

Rick groans, shoving his face in his hands again.

"That last one doesn't even make sense, Myrtle." He says, giving her a pleading look.

"Oh, it makes sense alright. Wait for it."

Rick does. _Gross._

"I'm out of words, Myrtle and I don't think I'll be able to eat fudge for months."

He turns to leave as she's back in ear splitting hysterics.

"Look, Myrtle, can you keep this between you and uh, the rest of the ghosts and I?" he asks in the threshold of the exit.

"Yes, yes of course. Just promise me one thing, Ricky? Promise that when you're wearing Dixon like a new set of robes to come and visit me – and then come."

He leaves without saying bye.

-/-

Rick stops dead in his tracks, pulling down his scarf and scratching at is cheek. He gapes. The benches, the cobbled archway and snow – it's all splattered in a dark crimson.

There's no sound, save the occasional gust of wind against the trees. There are no bodies. He runs down the path, more towards Hogsmede, where he'd told his men to post and doesn't find them. Dumbfounded, everything seems to slow. He drops to his knees, anger filling him. His eyes fall shut.

"DIXON", Rick growls, before rubbing his palms into his eyes. _How could he had not expected the attack?_ It's been weeks since he'd started the sale and everything had been quiet on the other end. He knew that Dixon would have been plotting something, but he didn't think Dixon would do this. _Never this._

"R-rick?", says a voice from behind a snow bank. It looks like a hastily made shelter, forged together with boulders, driftwood and mud caked snow. He runs towards the voice and finds it's Glenn. He's lying on his back, a hand over his heart where dark red stains his Gryffindor tie and white button up.

"Glenn, just hold on." Rick breathes, taking off his thick coat and draping it over his second. He sits on a nearby log beside them, cradling the other boys head in his lap. Glenn shivers and hisses.

"Shh, I've got you." Rick says. "They're not going to get away with this."

"I'm so cold," Glenn murmurs, looking ashamed. "I should have called a retreat."

"It's not on you, Glenn, we should have been more vigilant. Just – what the hell happened out here." Rick asks, frowning.

"Things were fine, Rick. I was doing rounds, as usual and then it came – all of it came so fast."

"What came?"

"Brian was the first to get hit, square in the jaw!" Glenn looks away from him, glossy eyed and distant. "I ran as fast as I could, so I could give the rest of our men the whistle – but there was too many of them and we didn't know where they were coming from."

Abruptly, Glenn grabs tight onto Rick's shirt, bending Rick over him. Rick looks to him in shock, seeing the terror relive in his eyes.

"Enchanted snowballs! They got us all, Rick!"

Glenn lets go of him, exhausted and breathy, falling back into Rick's lap.

"They got us all."

-/

Rick dresses in Hufflepuff robes. If everything goes well, Dixon is going to show up an hour later than he does, probably pissed that he's been knocked out again and that someone has already met with his connection.

Out of the mist, surely enough, is a short wizard with a long, pointy hat. He's spelled a wobbled wheeled wooden cart to follow him. Rick could hear the bottles clink and candy slide as it comes closer. He tests Daryl's voice.

"Hey, man." Rick says.

The wizard comes closer to him and smiles.

"Senor Dixon, you're looking as lovely as ever." He purrs, in a thick Spanish accent. He's stepping closer, into Rick's breathing space and actually bats his lashes. Rick stumbles back onto the tree trunk he's been standing near. He clears his throat, uncomfortable by how the wizard is staring at him.

"Hey – ho – what." Rick says, falling back even further as the wizard steps closer to him, grabbing at his wrists. Rick doesn't know how to react so he just lets the back of his hand get caressed and kissed.

"It must go without saying, Daryl, of how you tease me so. When you're ready, I shall bring you towards pleasures no man'd think to dream of."

"Muh-cho gra-see-a, amigo," Rick tries, "but I really just came for the supply."

Rick could admit that the man smelled really good and wasn't at all bad on the eyes, but even if he was in his own body, he wouldn't feel comfortable with someone who comes off this strong from the go. _What happened to asking for consent – properly, wooing someone._

The man, thank Merlin, takes that as a cue to lets go of Rick's hand. He raises both of his own in a defeated position, and cocks his head, contemplating Rick with a smirk.

"Wish is my command." He coos.

And when they're exchanging galleons for goods, a few tea cup sized butterflies fly near the wizard's face. He thrashes a palm though the air, cursing in Spanish. One of them don't get the memo, because it get's slap and it's falls into a small, twitching heap on the forest floor.

"Did you just slap that butterfly?" Rick says, stuffing his change into his wallet. The wizard looks down to it and shrugs. Rick's done some messed up stuff in his life, but he doesn't think he'd ever been that cruel. Not to something so majestic and innocent.

"Pleasure doing business with you. Farwell." The wizard doesn't wait for Rick to say goodbye. He's already apparated away.

-/-

"And that is why I think I would make a perfect mermaid king."

Must to his astonishment, everyone's managed to keep straight faces. Rick hasn't, but by now they're all used to his resting bitch face. He's heard way too much of Eugene's venture into the mer-world, and getting entangled in a very boring and not at morally sound, inter-species romance. Rick lets out a long exhale, happy when butterbeer appears next to him. There's perks to having group at The Three Broomsticks. He downs half of his in one go, feeling way more confident in feigning interest and sympathy.

"Rick, you are a conventionally attractive man." Eugene says, like he's uncomfortable. "What would you do in my position?"

Rick shifts in his seat.

"Um?"

"Do you think I should tell her how I feel and face the rath of her 67 brothers and sisters?"

Everyone in the group is staring at him. What does he think? He thinks Eugene would be a terrible mer-king for starters; that if the she knew any better, the mermaid he's fallen for would swim her way into the dark crevices of the black lake and never come out.

"I think that the scum and algae that washes up along the shore'd be more suitable to be a merking."

Rick yelps, staring at the other boy in horror and watching Eugene go from sad to angry in seconds.

"I…I…" Rick stammers, his throat suddenly dry. He downs the rest of his butterbeer.

Laura frowns at him.

"Rick, now why would you go and say a thing like that? That's not very nice." She says.

"I didn't mean to say that at all. Look, I meant to say that I hope this merwoman loves herself enough to make home far away from him – like the pacific ocean." Rick drops the bottle, and it crashes to the floor. His hands fly over his mouth. Everyone's as shocked as he is, except the Harrison sisters who are hunched together and openly giggling.

"Shit. Eugene, I'm so sorry." He says through his fingers. He really is, he doesn't know why he's saying any of it.

Eugene's eyes are filling with tears and he's got his knuckles in his mouth. He's glaring at a table filled with treats - treats that don't deserve the enmity meant for Rick.

Laura rushes over to Eugene, crouching in front of his chair and taking his hand in hers.

"There, there" she says, rubbing circles into his palm. Then she shoots a sharp look to Rick and he's honest to Merlin - terrified. She's an old lady, like 40 or something, and they know stuff. Been through things.

"I don't know why I said that, Laura. Eugene, look man." Rick says, trying to take control of his words.

"I'm sorry. It was rude of me to say." He says lamely. He could physical feel himself holding back from elaborating, not wanting to further sink himself into the shit hole he's dug himself in.

"Rick, over the years in group together, you and I haven't always seen eye to eye. But I believe'd us to be amicable. You hurt me, Rick. You really have." Eugene says.

"How could you be so judgemental on my choice of life partner?"

"Eugene, man, it's not like that at all!" Rick tries. Eugene ignores him.

"In all theses years, too, I have never once seen you partake in what one would consider a serious relationship. Have you ever even been in love?"

"Yes!" he shouts, desperately. There are gasps around the room and Rick could see the Harrison sisters and peg-legged pirate Joe whispering to each other. The sisters are expected, but feels a little betrayed by old peg leg. Has he really came off this cold all these years?

"With who?" Eugene asks first. Rick runs away in response, stomping down the stairs and into dining room of the Three Broomsticks, two steps at a time.

He's several feet out the main exit when the world goes dark.

-/-

They say the first step was admitting you had a problem.

"Ok," Rick says and mostly to himself. He's got a problem. He thinks about the first time he had the unfortunately pleasure of meeting his.

Rick was choking on the cold air, huffing and puffing as he ran after the closed doors of the Hogwarts Express. His uncle had dropped him at King's Cross too late. He threw sparks from his wand, red lights reading: "_WAIT, FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN – STOP!"_

It was another young wizard who'd seen the display and asked the conductor to open the door. When Rick rushed his way into the train, that same kid, easy smile and sleepy eyes, offered him the empty seat in his carriage. They took to each other quickly after they introduced themselves, and in an hours time they'd know everything there was to know about each other, or what little details they could divulge from their 11 years of living.

Rick thought it was the damnedest thing that both of them had grown up in the states, and wasn't surprised Daryl's slow drawl hailed from the south, too. Found that unlike Rick's pureblood, Daryl was half, and his pop was a muggle soldier stationed in the UK. Rick told him that he had to move on account that his parents died a few years back and his distant uncle came and adopted him. Rick didn't like how Daryl got all quiet and uncomfortable after that, so he had tried to change the subject, asked him if he knew any spells. Minutes later they were holding back giggles, not bating an eye when the trolly lady looked disapprovingly at their twin beards and curly mustaches. When they both went and asked for the last chocolate frog, Rick thought he owed it to his new friend and let him have it.

It hadn't even crossed his mind that they'd be sorted into different houses, nor how hard it would be to maintain a friendship now that they'd be separated. In the course of six years, a few quiet heys in passing and half-assed plans to hang out had turned into an ongoing, semi-malicious prank war. They'd send their lackeys to set dungbombs under each others four-poster beds and replace coloring potions with their shampoos so the other's hair turned bright pink. Some how, not only had they'd each managed to become leaders of their own underground candy and booze rings, they had become enemies. It went unsaid that they hated each other and would stop at nothing to stomp out their competition.

And it'd all be fuckin' peaches, if the Rick believed that last part. Rick was an uncomfortable amount of in love with Daryl.

He wasn't scribbling his name in the margins of his notes or anything, but he's definitely a 17 year old and he'd definitely only got it on with is hand all these years, never making it passed a few heated make out sessions in the dark corners of the castle. If that wasn't love and dedication, Merlin's cock, Rick didn't know what was.

It was fuckin' pathetic is what it was, so when he came back for his last year he figured it was now or never. So he conjured up a plan to deal with his problem - his real problem, not his affinity for chocolate frog cards. He didn't even really keep most of them.

His problem, obviously, was a Hufflepuff with a sweetooth. Some fuck who wore leather jackets when he wasn't wearing his school robes and had a hidden, enchanted motorcycle; some dick whose wayfarers pushed back long hair like a crown, more often than they shaded his eyes.

Fuckin Daryl Dixon who's got him strapped to this damn chair and asking him impossible questions.

"Cause I'm pretty in over my head." Rick says finally, looking to the floor. He toes at a pile of dust and scrapes it into the holes of the floorboard. "Over you. A lot over my head."

"Over me?" Daryl squeaks, before clearing his throat. He drops his voice a peg in recompense. "You like me? Y-you like me is what you're saying?"

Rick finally looks up to him, too tired of denying it and accepting that he's going to have to say what he actually means. Daryl is sitting on the table now, legs rocking under it like he's on a swingset. He looks like he's ate something nasty. That makes Rick feel a little better. Or no, not at all. He grimaces.

"Not like, actually – love. You, that is." Rick laughs without really meaning it and wishes that he wasn't tied up because he really wants to scratch out his voice box. Daryl's legs swing even more violently.

"Fuck," Daryl says and waves his wand. Rick's binds fall. He looks at Daryl, who's just a bunch of moving limbs at this point; hands scratching over and over again through his hair, teeth biting at his lips, wand tapping an arrhythmic tune on the table. It'd be comedic, if he didn't look as scared as Rick felt.

Rick doesn't know what to do when he stands up. _Hands_, he thinks, _what does he do with his hands. Where does he place his feet. What stance holds steady enough to face epic heartbreak._

"Well, I, uh – like – fuck it, I love you too." Daryl says, just as Rick was sure he found it the right footing. He falls back into the chair.

"Come again?" Rick asks, staring at Daryl like he's grown an extra head

"I love you too?"

Daryl stops moving all together and looks at Rick a little helplessly. Rick can see a vulnerability in his eyes that Rick knows all too well, but he can't make himself believe in it. The words, _I love you_, repeat over and over again in his mind and work him into a low boiling rage.

"Fuck you!" Rick spits. "Drug me up to be honest? Honestly, I knew you didn't like me, but I never knew you hated me this much. You could hate me enough to use this against me? This?"

Daryl hops off the table now, shaking his head and eyes wild.

"Hey, fuck you! I'm tellin' the truth!", Daryl shouts, coming within a foot of Rick. Rick stares him down, jaw setting to the side. Daryl's eyes narrow, before he removes another small vial from his pockets.

Rick chances a look. It's another bottle of veritaserum. He frowns.

"What are you…"

"I didn't know if I'd need another bottle, " Daryl says and promptly downs its entirety. He makes a face but sobers quickly, shaking the empty bottle in front of him.

"See, now I'm drugged up too." Daryl looks determined, his hand on his hips. "Go on, ask me."

Rick's shoulders fall from where they were tensed. Now that he's back on even playing fields he feels much more relaxed and better to handle the situation, but there's still a heavy uncertainty tugging at the bottom of his stomach. _Ask? Where does he start._

"Would you or would you not slap a butterfly?" He hears himself say.

"W-what?" Daryl asks, face scrounged up in confusion. He glances to the side of the room like the answers are written on the wall and back to Rick.

"Uh, you heard me." Rick says. He lifts his chin and crosses his arms.

"No, I wouldn't." Daryl says slowly. Rick nods.

"Well, that' 's good."

Rick doesn't know how long they stand there for, both breathing heavily out their noses and not talking. Then Daryl groans, wiping a hand over his face.

"Fuckin, Rick man, can we just skip to making out?" Daryl says, exasperated.

They don't get to of course, because just as Rick nods dumbly at him and is breath away, Daryl's running and throwing up something fierce into a bucket that had been catching fallen snow. Then Rick looks to where the last vial of veritaserum burned through the wall and he's spilling his own guts into a corner of the room.

-/-

"This don't count as a first date, do it?" Rick says, face squashed into his pillow, burritoed in the three blankets he stole from neighboring bed. Daryl snorts and tip toes out of his own and towards Rick's, rolling him form his cocoon.

"Move over." He grunts.

"Hey, I'm not that kind of lady. I don't put out on the first date." Rick says, and frowns as he makes room for Daryl.

"Don't put at all, actually." He groans. "I hate this fucking potion."

Daryl's laughing now, shaking the bed with his laughter. They're laying on their backs, side to side and sharing a pillow. Under the covers, Rick has his hand over Daryl's.

"Figures we'd both be pair of loser virgins." Daryl says into the cold. They both laugh this time.

When they've caught up on breathing, they lie in silence, watching as the stars of the enchanted ceiling fall and rearrange themselves into shapes.

"How long, Rick?" asks Daryl, turning up his palm so he could fully entwine their fingers. Rick knows what he's asking and hell, he's going to be embarrassed to say, but he doesn't think he'd want to lie if he could.

"Since the beginning," Rick whispers. "Since I met you on the Hogwarts Express."

Daryl lets go of Rick's hand. He turns to his side and elbows a pillow, cupping his head in his hand as leans over Rick. Closer than he's been in years, Rick thinks Daryl doesn't look too different than he did back then - just stupidly inviting. But now there's a few hairs around his mouth and his beauty mark's only gotten more distinguished.

They're staring at each other and maybe Rick's still in shock. It only took them a few years and poisonings, but they're here. _We're here._

Rick doesn't even notice Daryl pull something from his never ending pocket, but he does feel when it's pressed in his hand. It's rough and frayed, like it'd been folded a few times.

"Daryl? What's this?" Rick brings it out and holds in front of him. He moves it to the side so the candle light could catch it before unfolding it.

Rick heart drops. He bolts right up in bed, coving his mouth with a hand. Daryl follows suit, watching Rick.

"It's the card I got, you know? The one from the frog you let me have?" Daryl says.

"Rick, shit, are you crying?"

_Had he been crying?_ He doesn't remember when that started, but he goes to wipe at his eyes and his fingers come back wet. _Had he been breathing? _He decides to take a few big ones just in case.

It doesn't calm him.

He can see Daryl's frown, but he can't bring himself to look fully. Rick examines the card closely, looking over the inscription, he reads the name over and again. His throat tighten as the witch in the night blue robes and matching hat smiles at him.

He smiles back, wiping the back his hand underneath his nose. He's startled, almost forgot that Daryl was right next to him until the other boy places a soft hand on his shoulder. Rick looks to him with a watery grin.

"It's her, Dare. It's my mom." Daryl's eyes go wide before he breaks out into his own smile.

Rick kisses it off his face. They're sitting with their bodies twisted haphazardly, but they reach for each other any way they can. Rick's got fingers digging into Daryl's bicep and Daryl's got his under Rick's jaw, rubbing a thumb over Rick's adam's apple.

Rick pulls back, kissing Daryl before he's carfully placing the forgotten chocolate frog card on the bedsidte table.

They fall in to tangles. Beside horny, Rick feels light. Feels butterbeer warmed; feels, that for the longest time he'd been shivering and someone's finally came and did him a solid, offering him their own cloak. This feeling - Rick wants to live on it forever.

"Thank you." Rick mumbles against Daryl's lips. "For keeping the frog, and for your cloak."

They say the first step was admitting that you have a problem.

Rick does.


End file.
